


and twice is twice too many

by celebreultimaverba



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Gen, Suicidal Thoughts, guess who just watched ep 102
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-08-04 07:22:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16342337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celebreultimaverba/pseuds/celebreultimaverba
Summary: A quick drabble about Vax's last thoughts during episode 102. Foresight's a nasty thing when you know your death is coming.





	and twice is twice too many

He felt it twice.

Foresight was a funny spell. He’d blinked a few times, when Keyleth first cast it, seeing her in front of him and a few seconds in the future. It wasn’t something he could just tune out, and not something that messed him up, necessarily—he suspected that was a part of the magic, keeping his mind from being confused even as it processed two separate things.

It wasn’t _helpful,_ though.

He could speak normally, seeing his friends’ reactions a few seconds in the future even as he said the words. He saw the tower start to crumble a few seconds before Pike and Keyleth joined hands.

He saw Vecna cast the spell a few seconds before he actually did—not long enough to _warn_ anybody, just long enough to process that he wouldn’t be able to shrug off the weight of the man’s (not a man, not a man, a god, or a _thing)_ magic even before he failed.

Just long enough to see himself fall from the sky even before he succumbed to gravity.

Just long enough to not worry when Delilah stepped over his body to try and Disintegrate him, because he saw Scanlan, the beautiful bastard, yell something to stop her.

Just long enough so he could avoid breathing in when Grog sliced her open, not choke on any of the blood that splashed on him.

Just long enough— _just_ long enough to realize that there was nothing Scanlan could do when Vecna chose to finish what Delilah had started.

He felt it twice.

Couldn’t move. Whatever magic had a hold on him was much too strong. He couldn’t see his friends—didn’t quite know who was up or down. He could feel the cold obsidian under his cheek both in the present and in the future, and he could feel the long, dark hair over his face obscuring his vision. He could feel himself breathe in this second and the next.

Could feel himself turning to dust a few seconds before he did.

It started on his shoulder first, under the armor. Didn’t hurt, just a numbness that spread and spread and spread, bleeding into the present where he actually started to disintegrate.

It didn’t take long. But man, could someone think in the few seconds before they’re snuffed. Especially when his foresight went dead because he had, in the future. Especially when it was suddenly just Vax, in the present, lying helpless and crumpled in rubble and ruined raven feathers, knowing what was coming.

He felt it twice.

Vax’ildan felt himself die twice.

After that year of— of _happiness,_ of some sort of lightness from the world being taken off their shoulders, after a year of being at Keyleth’s side, his sister’s side, his friends’ sides, being at Zephrah and working as best as he could to be useful, even if his role as unnecessary bodyguard was _unnecessary._ After a year of the worst things being the vague dreams he sometimes got, chased away by rolling over and bringing someone he loved closer. After a year of that stinking armor being packed away in a box full of lavender. After a year of smiling, of taste-testing pastries, of taking weekends off with Grog and worrying about Scanlan, of sitting through boring meetings and wishing he had Simon back to fiddle with. Of looking around at children and families, realizing he’d made his own, thinking of some nebulous future that wasn’t quite so nebulous anymore. After a year of finding a future he wanted, after a year of loving and being loved, and, after a year of _living for_ something instead of _dying_ for it— 

After a year of— of _that—_

Vax’ildan felt himself die twice.

It was, he thought, the first time he did not want to.


End file.
